


Life's Miracles

by DarthSuki



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: 10/10 Autobot leader but 0/10 at communication with partner, A very flustered Optimus, F/M, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-08-16 16:02:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16498670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthSuki/pseuds/DarthSuki
Summary: You're pregnant with Optimus' sparkling. Though you're getting plenty of medical attention by Ratchet through the entire experience, you're very much lacking in attention from the one you want it from most: the sparklings father. After a revelation about how much he needs to work on his communication skills, Optimus more than makes up for it.Could be read as a sequel toTell Me How You Feel, though if it is then damn does Optimus have some issues with running away from his feelings.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a commission for [Iamanemotionaltimebomb](http://iamanemotionaltimebomb.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. If you would like to see more of my stuff, check out my writing tumblr [darthwritings](https://darthwritings.tumblr.com/).

It was a miracle.

If Optimus was a smarter bot, if he knew more into the details, the science, the  _ biology _ that went into understanding how he had been able to sire a sparkling, then he might not have been nearly as equally awed and terrified at the situation. He might not have the layers of stress and anxiety wrapping around his thoughts, always wondering when something would just go  _ wrong _ \--but he wasn’t a scientist, not in the way that Ratchet was, and Ratchet seemed more intrigued by the whole thing than afraid, so that should have been enough for Optimus to go off of.

Except it wasn’t.

There was next-to-nothing on record about a Cybertronian siring a sparkling with an organic but a whole ocean of things to worry about. How would a half-Cybertronian function? Would it require energon? Would it be able to transform?

So many questions and so few answers; Optimus was used to having answers, used to knowing what to do in even the worst, most bleak of times. He had led countless battles through numerous wars, always being able to come up with something to turn the odds around. He was a Prime, it was in his spark to know what to do.

But this? This was new, this was terrifying--

But this was the most beautiful miracle he had ever lived to experience.

He is going to be a  _ father _ . 

* * *

You get used to being pregnant surprisingly well. After all the morning sickness, the frequent medical exams, the weight gain and the lack of dexterity your rounding belly gifts you bountifully, it’s not nearly as horrible as what you would have expected. If anything, it isn’t your own body worrying you the most--it’s that of the baby’s father.

Ever since the two of you found out you were pregnant, Optimus had been surprisingly distant and yet hover-y at the same time, as little sense as it made. Whenever you seemed to look for him he was nowhere to be found, but when you didn’t want a touch or a set of eyes upon you he was there, asking too many questions and always a step behind you, as if you were a child yourself.

It was as infuriating as it was confusing.

Ratchet was a wonderful doctor through the pregnancy--though he certainly had next-to-no experience when it came to a pregnancy such as yours, he still had plenty of experience that left you feeling comforted--you were surrounded by those who cared and, at least in the case of all but the young Bumblebee, had plenty of life experience. 

There were worst places that you could be pregnant. Worst people to father your child. Worse situations you could be in.

You were several months along, stomach already rounded and body in a full hormonal swing. Every day seemed to bring something new, but this one brought one of the worst feelings of all: you were horny. 

Whether it was a caress or a quickie, you just wanted intimacy, wanted something physical and warm and loving from the bot who sired the baby in your belly--but gods above he always seemed to be anywhere else than at your side when you had days like these.

As much as you wanted to say you were able to ignore the feelings, you were barely a few hours into your day when they broke you. 

Unfortunately, they happened to break you while you were in the medical bay, under the careful watch of Ratchet as he put you through an uncountable number of tests.

“Your heart rate is up today,” The bot said, as he tapped at a screen beside where you sat. “I’ve also noticed a difference in some of the hormones you’re producing compared from the blood test I ran a week ago.”

He didn’t look at you as he scanned the readings and other careful notes he’d been taking on you since the first noticeable day of the conception. Though you couldn’t blame Ratchet for such careful observation, it was a little harder to curb your over-stimulated mind from lashing out when you very much  _ didn’t _ want to tell him that you wanted to get fucked so good you couldn’t remember your own name.

So you shrugged awkwardly and tried to not think about it.

“I feel just fine,” you said after a moment, feeling your shoulders droop as you then let out a sigh. “...Well, as fine as I can be, I guess.”

“You guess?” Ratchet asked. He paused what he was doing and turned to look at you, blue optics watching gently, but concerned all the same.

It was hard to keep your eyes on his for more than a few seconds; you felt heat over your cheeks as you tried to form the words appropriate for the situation that still communicate your needs.

“I...haven’t been able to share some time with Optimus for a while,” It took you a moment to get the words out, your eyes slowly dropping to the floor and your hands wringing themselves over. “He’s been really...distant. I almost feel like he’s been avoiding me? I mean, I know he’s busy, I know you’re all busy, I don’t want to be selfish at all and I just--”

You were rambling. You were rambling and not making sense and probably sounding silly. All the same, Ratchet gently cut you off, a hand waved gently in front of you to catch your gaze that was now down on the floor.

“Calm down,” He said gently, tapping once more on the screen before the lights darkened to nothing. “The last thing you need to be right now is stressed--I ain’t no expert on this type of pregnancy--” (he mumbled something low along the lines of, ‘I’m not an expert on pregnancy at all’) “--but gettin’ all stressed ain’t going to help you or the sparkling out. I haven’t seen him around yet today, but you head back to your quarters and I’ll make sure to send him over as soon as I see him.”

It’s honestly as much comfort as anyone could really give you. You flash a gentle smile to Ratchet in thanks as he helps you down from the examination table, then silently leave the bay so you could be with your own thoughts.

\-----

Ratchet worked in the medical bay for several cycles, losing track of time as he gently worked over the medical notes he had taken earlier. It was fascinating, really, even for a bot who really never had any sort of vested interest in bio-organic research. The idea that a Cybertronian could have a sparkling with an organic was nothing sort of awe-inspiring, enough that even Ratchet couldn’t help but want to look into the pregnancy--it wasn’t like there were any others in the Autobot team stationed on Earth with the same level of experience, interest and willingness to do it.

He was halfway through running a test on a blood sample when he heard the bay doors open. Ratched turned his gaze and caught sight of the very bot he’d been hoping to see.

“Optimus,” The medic greeted, only able to offer a gentle bow of his head in greeting as he checked the current readings of the test at-hand. “I was hoping to see you today--your timing couldn’t be better.”

“Oh?” the other said, curiosity mixing with another subtle, almost unheard tone in his voice. “Is there something wrong?”

“Oh no,” Ratchet finally turned to look at the autobot leader, finding him looking just a touch worse for wear than he normally did--it wasn’t something specific that Ratchet could point out, but a lot of little things, minute details. “She’s as healthy as can be, according to the tests I’m running; no harm to her or the sparkling--whom is also very healthy.”

Optimus perked with interest as he leaned against one of the examination tables.

“Any updates on them?”

Ratchet thought about it for a moment, then shrugged in a nondescript answer.

“No sign of anything major--I’d wager to say the growth is more like a human pregnancy than cybertronian, which is probably a good thing,” The doctor chuckled more out of relief than humor, because that had been quite a bit worry for the longest time in the early months of the pregnancy.

A moment of silence passed. It was tense, Ratchet could sense that something was off with the autobot standing in front of him and he wasn’t going to let it go--especially not when the look of your face clung to his thoughts, your eyes when you told him how you were feeling.

“You know, Optimus,” Ratchet does his best to sound casual. “You and her haven’t been spendin’ too much time together lately. It’s probably a good idea to make time for her--this experience is probably a little….frightening. It would do her and the sparkling well to have you close by, eh?”

It’s probably not the easiest topic to breach, but Ratchet has known Optimus long enough that it’s not as tense and awkward as it could be, all things considered. Even with their close bond, Optimus’s eyes shift, breaking from Ratchet’s gaze and off to the side of the room.

“I’ve been...busy,” The leader says, voice tense and obviously lying. “With the last message we intercepted from the Decepticons and the new readings of energon, I’ve been required to take on several missions and--”

“You’re a terrible liar, Optimus.”

Ratchet doesn’t try to sound soft when it’s obvious his old friend needs someone stubborn and willing enough to call him out on what he’s trying to avoid. He crosses his arms against his chest, almost glaring now at the bot before him, the leader of the autobots--the one who should be acting less like a bumbling rookie.

“I’ve known you for eons, Optimus, and I have been in more than enough battles with you to know that’s a buncha slag.” Ratchet drops his arms and takes a step closer to Optimus, finally reaching out a hand to lay it on the other’s shoulder in firm (but honest) comfort. “What is bothering you? Is there something going on between the two of you? A fight?”

Optimus blinked, staring at Ratchet blankly for a moment as he extrapolated the question and suddenly shook his head.

“Primus,” he cursed with a groan. “No, we haven’t. Nothing like that, old friend--I swear it’s nothing like that.”

“Then explain why she looked like she was about to cry while she was telling me how she hasn’t seen you for the last several solar cycles?”

“What?”

The surprise was genuine in his voice. It was the only thing that kept Ratchet from falling into an even rougher tone--all the official customs and courtesies in the world couldn’t keep the old medic from being honest, but at least Optimus seemed genuinely confused.

Ratchet sighed, feeling too much like a father himself with the slight tension running through his thoughts. 

“Did you think trying to avoid your partner while they are actively pregnant is a good idea for their emotional and physical health?”

It was the only thing he could think of that might make the notion obvious without being rude. With the words hanging on the air, Optimus’ gaze still didn’t meet the other’s own. He didn’t have a response at first, letting the silence grow thick and tense until it became unbearable--the guilt was heavy in the leader’s optics.

“I just don’t want to hurt her,” he said eventually, voice too soft and gentle for Ratchet, if he hadn’t heard it himself, to have come from a bot who had been in countless wars and survived death numerous times. 

“Hurt her?”

Optimus was silent for a moment, thinking through what he wanted to say before clarifying, “I don’t want….to let my emotions dictate my actions. In that way. While she’s pregnant.”

“....I’m not following anything that you’re trying to tell me,” Ratchet answered, voice deadpan. “I’m her freaking doctor, Optimus, and I’m your friend, just spit out why you’re avoiding her for Primus’ sake!”

Less than a beat of silence passed between them. And then, as if at his wits end, Optimus answered with a very calm, careful tone.

“To put it in the local Earth slang:  _ I want to fuck her until she can’t remember her name _ .”

Another beat of silence, and then another, until the whole bay was filled with a new type of thick tension that nobody seemed apt to break; Optimus was still, unnaturally so, not so much as a shift until the silence was finally broken by Ratchet’s uproariously loud laughter.

“Oh by the primes,” The medic said, words cut between laughter as he tried to control himself but failing spectacularly. “She’s not  _ glass _ and she’s not a scrappin’  _ sparkling _ Optimus--did you not wonder if she’s feeling the same way?”

When amused blue optics flickered towards the Autobot leader, they found Optimus at a loss for words, looking equally confused and unsure in how to respond, largely because he couldn’t--he was at a loss for words entirely.

Ratchet, deciding that he hadn’t actually seen nor experienced  _ everything _ in the universe just yet, sighed.

“Did you know that, when humans are pregnant, the hormones their bodies produce can make them want to engage in mating?” The doctor crossed his arms, as if to make his point that much more obvious. “...well, interface.”

And then, slowly, a smirk worked onto Ratchet’s face.

“...or even ‘fuck’ as you had put it.”

It wasn’t hard to see a range of emotions move across Optimus’ expression. Awkwardness. Worry. Realization. Surprise. Then, at the end of it all, he looked so, so very guilty--surprised and guilty.

Suffice to say, it didn’t take all that many seconds until Optimus, Autobot leader, battle-hardened warrior and future father, hurried out of the medical bay (assumedly to find his mate). He left Ratchet to his own thoughts once more, but the doctor found the new peace something nice.

“I’m too old to be giving relationship advice,” he muttered to himself, turning back to the various holo-screens of the medical bay.


	2. Chapter 2

Optimus wasn’t quite sure how to feel as he stepped through the halls of the base, not quite lost but not quite with a plan in mind. It wasn’t as if he was stalling against the inevitable; there would be no force in any plane of existence that would keep him from finding you. The words from Ratchet rang almost painfully true against the mech’s thoughts, keeping him anchored when his inner feelings of shame and guilt started to gnaw at his resolve.

No, he needed to find you. To make things better. To make things  _ much _ better, physically speaking, considering the other, less  _ polite _ thoughts and desires mulling around his mind. 

He was largely worried that his realization would come too late. The last thing he wanted to come from this would be your anger and pain, but he certainly couldn’t let it dwell for any longer (especially when he knew there was as much want in you as there was in him).

Indecision couldn’t hold out for very long at least, and soon enough Optimus found himself at the door to your shared quarters. He stood for a few moments longer than necessary, almost wondering if he’d even find you there--perhaps fate wouldn’t be that kind to him. With a sigh and a tap of the console beside the doorway, he watched the metal slide open to reveal the darkened room inside.

As he stepped in, Optimus would have assumed the quarters empty if not for the soft sounds coming from the berth in the corner of the room--

Sounds that the mech recognized rather intimately. 

They were  _ moans _ .

Optimus blinked, momentarily taken aback. He wasn’t quite sure what he expected to find of you, but he certainly wasn’t to argue against catching you in a moment quite like  _ this. _ Nervousness and shame fell mute in the mech’s mind as he made sure the doorway was shut and locked, the lights still off and his movements as quiet as he could manage.

You were tangled in blankets, lost in a haze of pleasure and want to notice your partner’s approach--or at least, maybe you didn’t much care. Maybe you  _ wanted _ him to see, if only to initiate a shared experience that he’d practically been avoiding for  _ months _ .

“Optimus,” You moaned, legs open and one hand between them, two digits only alleviating so much of the ache coursing through your body. He’s practically standing beside the berth at this point--the gentle glow of his optics are almost arousing in itself, knowing that he’s  _ watching _ you, watching your fingers press inside your wet heat, watching your lips part and moans drip out.

“I’m-” he starts, but you cut him off with a flushed, but glaring, knowing look.

“I swear to god if you apologize right now--” The words are interrupted by another moan when your crooked fingertips find the right spot, rubbing just perfectly that the world feels hot and perfect for but a heartbeat. “--please, I just--” your hips tilt into your own touch, trying to find that spot again but failing with a sob. “--Optimus, just fuck me.”

Well, there really isn’t much chance for him to ignore a plea as beautiful as that, is there?

In all the span of a breath, choked and needy, the mech is upon you. He settles himself as best he can over your form, his size as analogous to yours as he can physically force of his body. 

Thank the gods above that was even a thing that existed of the Cybertronian race.

You barely give Optimus a moment before you’re reaching up, seeking out the comfort of his arms, his hands, his lips--anything really, anything to start satiating the desperate hunger gnawing at the back of your thoughts--no, no it’s much to the front, a very conscious want.

At least the mech isn’t without the sense to shift between your splayed, open legs, his optics glowing such a lovely shade of blue in the otherwise dim room. It made the moment intimate, warm, made you shiver as you felt one of his hands gently touch your hip and slide up your side.

“I’m-” he starts to say, but the words of apology quickly fall away as he catches himself, instead turning them deep and his expression deeper. “How do you need me?”

It wasn’t about what he wanted at all in that moment, but instead what you needed of him. Guilt and arousal washed together like white-hot energon in the very center of his form that it was impossible to pull the two apart, leaving him desperate to know anything he could to to begin making the moment right.

You let out a hot breath and tighten your arms around him. The thoughts in your mind barely make any sense, but there’s at least enough to get a couple words tumbling from your quivering lips.

“I just-” you start, clutching at any bit of him you can and feeling his delicious, hot weight settle between your legs. “I need--you; I need all of you, all over, please-”

The words felt as broken as they sound.

For all of his ignorance and worry up until that very moment, Optimus is wonderfully perceptive of a lover. You can’t imagine how hard it is to extrapolate even the crudest details from your words and body language and yet he seems to know without fail exactly what your body wants--his touch, his hand lingering against your skin and his lips quickly finding your own.

Even though your bodies are of wholly different species, they fit so well together; his hips against yours, protecting and smothering and oh so perfect in the ways that are distinctly him.

It’s perfect.

You can’t help but wrap your legs around his body as you feel hot pressure against your core. Having already opened yourself up with your own fingers, there’s little resistance, leaving you to gasp in pleasure as his spike sinks within your body.

Optimus lets out an unsteady breath, having long picked up the distinctly human habit from you in many moments of heated lovemaking. It’s a habit you have no intention of breaking in him if only for the genuineness of it, the raw intimacy that you can feel and hear and see when his optics are half-open and he’s almost shaking against you in his own want and desire.

You feel him press in deeper, inch by breathtaking inch until he’s seated fully within your body and his digits are grasping at your hips for purchase. 

It’s a sensation you’re never quite used to--perhaps you never will be. It’s heat and tension and a pulsating of energy that’s so inhuman and so familiar that it’s hard to ignore with any less than your entire being--assuming you’d even  _ want _ to do that in the first place. 

“Optimus,” you moan, feeling his name drip like sweet syrup from your lips as your body wraps ever tighter around him. Your legs draw him closer until he’s flush against you, the metal shapes of his body burning hot against your bare flesh.

He echoes the sound of desire as your name fills the air.

For all the desperation that had filled you, every ounce of need and want with gnawing thoughts and biting desire, the lovemaking is surprisingly slow and gentle. Hips and bodies shift against one another with distinct familiarity, and that familiarity in itself brings warmth in your chest as much as the pleasure itself. He knows your body well, every inch--knows the places to kiss, to caress, the very places to press his hands as you find the last moments of euphoria until climax comes sweeping over your entire form.

The berth beneath your body has long turned warm with body heat, the metal feeling almost scalding against your skin--you feel your stomach tighten as your body is pressed down against it, smothered with affection and doing little more than  _ existing _ with the pleasure that blooms in your stomach.

Each thrust is careful and restrained in a way that never presses too hard over your rounded stomach; at some point even one of the autobot’s hands come to rest over the gentle curve in both admiration and concern. Even in the heat of the moment, the awe behind such a simple touch isn’t lost upon you and, if anything, it makes a smile draw ever wider over your lips as one of your own hands shift to press overtop Optimus’ own.

Though there is a million things you can say, none of them feel appropriate. The heated moment calls for something deeper than mere words can ever communicate.

Instead you let your body and lips say it all, kissing Optimus with a burning passion, legs around his waist and keeping him close. You feel every shift, every shake, every noise of mechanics and organics that make your union.

Climax comes not like a burst or an explosion, but like a blooming rose. Heat and tension grows in the pit of your stomach, feeling so tight that you are nearly unable to breath until-

Suddenly-

It’s gone.

With a sigh of a name on both of your lips, you feel your end come upon you. A rhythm of tightening muscles and an arching back, moans and whispers and clutching hands coming together in a beautiful fury of love and lust. Optimus holds you as he too finds his end, filling you up evermore in as much a metaphorical as physical sense--delight is as abundant as euphoria in those moments.

“Optimus,” you murmur, letting the soft waves of pleasure roll through your body like warm ocean waves. “Oh yes, please--”

He shushes you gently, barely able to keep his own noises of love and need restrained. His hand is still on your belly, gentle, despite all the power you know he holds. A being who has fought in countless wars and will be in countless more and he has the soft touch of a feather for you--it never ceases to bring warmth to your cheeks when you think about it for a few seconds too long.

Optimus and you lay beside one another as climax wanes down to soft waves of afterglow. It’s silent between you, but not the sort that brings feelings of worry or distance. Instead it’s a warm silence, the kind filled with soft kisses and fingertips trailing over bare skin. It’s a silence between two lovers who have once again found a balance, even if words would be needed to keep it going.

The hand on your belly is warm, tracing over the curve as if trying to make out the shape within your body--the second life within you.

You can’t help but glance down fondly at where his fingertips touch to your skin, and then up to his face, optics glowing dimly in the dark room and meeting your gaze in the same breath.

“Well,” you murmur, making a slightly-too-dramatic gesture to yourself. “As you can see I’m not broken after that--far from it, really.”

A smile, though embarrassed, falls over your lover’s expression.

“No, no you’re not.”

There’s defeat in his tone, but not the kind that comes with failure or disappointment--it’s the kind that comes with relief. You shift closer to him, close enough for your head to tuck against his chest and both your hands to move and clasp Optimus’ own over your stomach.

“Promise you’ll talk to me first if something like this happens again?”

There’s a beat of soft, warm silence-

“...I promise with all of my spark.”

-and then you feel a kiss to the top of your head.


End file.
